This one smells oddly like…
Toast that’s had a burnt crust scraped off, peppery citrus grilled on a cedar plank, melon on the side.
It’s like a savory gourmand–
but it works, in a honeymoon morning, cabin-in-the-woods kind of way.
The soap shingle might not be the best way to test, but it’s fun. I get honey tempered with burnt cedar in the suds, and sweet resinous spice on the rinse.
I like the chocolate licorice accord, though any Lolita Lempicka Noir does it better.
Not for me, but pleasant enough to sit next to on a long bus ride.
Not bad, in a modern Town & Country way.
His girlfriend got it for him when they were on spring break last year. His mother thinks it’s nice too.
Pineapple and sage on the top, sandalwood and rented groomsman’s tuxedos on the bottom.
If dolls could fart marshmallows, they’d smell like this.
A loud pbthpbthpbth of sweet plastic esthers–almost an artificial banana–then greasy coconut oil that dries down to diaper powder and decomposing Barbies left in the sun.
Weirdly sticky (and very synthetic for a LUSH scent) and lasts forever.
Green pond lilies and sugar dipped flowers steaming in summer rainstorms.
There’s an amber shard edge that keeps it from being cloying, but it’s still too sweet for me.
I tested this one in the store, and loved the cloves–it faded to spiced coffee on the skin after a few hours, but I huffed my wrist all evening–and the next day I went back for a bottle.
Maybe the weather had changed, but the woodsy notes wound up being more than I bargained for, too green, too feral-tree-sprite than the Turkish cafe I thought I was getting.
I gave it my brother, who can pull off forest faun with just a smirk.
It suits him.
A laundry soap commercial.
Lime rind in a dry powder detergent, then wildflowers in the sun. Finishes chemical clean.
Much too sanitary for me.